The Double

I walked him slowly back across the room, all the way to the door. And despite his size and his frustration, he let me do it. I thought back to the kiss: he’d been desperate, but... tender.

This was about more than just sex. He was in love with Christina.

I stared at him, amazed. But it was true: the way his eyes kept going to my lips, the way he alternated between glaring in frustration and looking totally helpless. This big, tough, older guy, the one I’d been so intimidated by downstairs... he was as lovesick as a teenager.

And I knew in my gut that Christina hadn’t loved him in return.

She’d just strung him along, using him for sex, wrapping him around her little finger. And now I’d inherited that power. I’d never had that before, never had a man crazy for me. It made me awed...and humbled. However risky this was, I had to let the poor guy down gently. I couldn’t just break his heart.

“Just be patient,” I whispered, as I guided him out of the room. “We’ll be together soon.”

Before I could stop him, he lunged forward and kissed me sweet and quick on the lips. Then I managed to get the door shut and leaned back against it, sighing in relief. But as I gazed around the room, the relief didn’t last long. I’d had no idea about Christina and Grigory. What else didn’t she tell me?

All I wanted to do was to stay in the bedroom, where I couldn’t run into anyone else and blow my cover. But I had a job to do and I wasn’t going to get evidence on Konstantin here.

I felt ridiculous creeping around the house in a fancy dress so I changed. Most of Christina’s skirts were more like belts, but I managed to find a slate gray pencil skirt that actually came down almost to my knees, although the soft, stretchy fabric did hug my ass and hips a lot. And after a lot of digging, I managed to find a sweater that didn’t have a plunging neckline, a beautiful angora wool turtleneck in rust red.

I took some time to touch up my make-up: Christina always looked perfect and I had to maintain that, even though it took me twice as long as it probably took her. Then I crept slowly downstairs.

I thought Konstantin would be down on the first floor, but by homing in on the deep rumble of his voice, I finally found him on the second, in a room whose door was ajar. I pushed it quietly open….

Everything about Konstantin’s study was old-fashioned. He sat in a big, high-backed, swivel chair, the green leather faded until it was the color of money. The desk looked like something Lincoln might have sat behind, the mahogany so dark with years of polish, it was almost black. In one corner of the room was a black-painted safe the size of a refrigerator, like something that would have held the payroll in the Old West. Konstantin hadn’t seen me yet. He was leaning forward, his elbows on the desk, one hand holding a phone and the other cradling his head. “Da,” he said, nodding. “Da svidania.” Goodbye. He ended the call and sighed, then rubbed the back of his neck with both hands. Only then did he open his eyes. But when he saw me, he didn’t look pleased. He looked shocked.

I pushed on with the plan: I’d comfort him, just like Christina would have, and let him vent all his troubles to me. I started across the room, trying to swing my hips like she did. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Is Ralavich really in New York?”

But he just stared at me as if I’d gone crazy and then gave me a quick, frustrated shake of his head. Reminding me of some rule they’d established long ago.

I froze. Something was horribly wrong. This whole plan relied on the assumption that all criminals confide in their girlfriends. But what if Konstantin was the exception?

I stared into those cold gray eyes and I knew I was right. It wasn’t just that he didn’t love Christina, she wasn’t even his confidante. He was so ruthless, he didn’t share a damn thing with her.

“Sorry,” I muttered, and backed out of the room. Just as I left, I thought I caught something else in his face...and then I pulled the heavy door closed and stood there staring at my hazy reflection in the polished surface. My mission had just become a thousand times harder...and more dangerous. But there was something else.

It bothered me that he wouldn’t share his secrets with me. Even though I was living proof that his secrecy was right, that he should be paranoid...it bothered me. Because I wanted to help him. Sitting at his desk, his head in his hands, he’d looked so alone. And then there was what I’d glimpsed on his face, just as I’d left. He’d been angry but...regretful. As if it was himself he was angry at, not me. As if he wanted to share everything with me but couldn’t.